


And Make it Decaf, Please

by PaisleyWraith



Category: South Park
Genre: Background pairings mentioned, Drug Use, F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-21 07:48:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16572572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaisleyWraith/pseuds/PaisleyWraith
Summary: Tweek continues to try and improve life - he has a lot to look forward to, if only he could just make a few simple changes. But there's something about this town, as if it refuses to let certain people go. He doesn't know if it's going to let him go.





	And Make it Decaf, Please

Tweek is a seventeen year old male. He is 5’6 and a quarter in height and weighs 107 pounds. He’s slightly underweight but his doctor gives him a paper and instruction to eat something higher calorie and otherwise gives him a clean bill of health. 

The dark, pitching feeling that drags down his stomach when he hears that, the biting disappointment threatening to make his eyes water, is unconscious and startles him. 

It’s then that Tweek realizes something is wrong. 

Well, he’s always known something is wrong. He stood in the Tucker’s kitchen, his twitching fingers in oven mitts pulling a taco casserole from the oven and setting it on top to cool, trying not to gag with the savory smell. 

He stared at melting cheese and chunks of olives with a turning stomach. He still felt a little like crying and it was making him angry. He grit his teeth, lip twitching, shucking off the gloves and throwing them on the counter with an audible slap. 

“Thank you, Tweek,” Laura’s hair was pulled up as she slipped past him to get back to finishing the dough for cookies. She gently brushed past on her way to the other countertop, squeezing his shoulder affectionately. “Is Craig done setting the table?” 

He hadn’t seen Craig since he began casserole-sitting in the kitchen. 

“I don’t know,” Fidgeting fingers brushed over his front, automatically checking for uneven buttons even though he was wearing a sweater. He cringed at the rudeness in his own voice. “I-I’ll check.”

He crossed his arms over himself to hide the shake in his hands, stepping into the dining room. The table was indeed set, Craig tapping on his phone screen and leaning against the edge. 

Tweek stood silently, a twist in his stomach, pressing his lips together against the involuntary noises threatening to become audible. The boy’s expression was passive, but the tilt of his head hinted at a more relaxed manner. He was talking to someone he liked. Tweek could read him. He could read him, sometimes. 

Not that it made any difference, right now, not that it ever made any real difference, anyone could read Craig if they just tried, people should try more, he deserved more than Tweek’s stupid interpretations on his everyday actions- 

The boy frowned, looking up, and Tweek quickly ducked back around the corner into the kitchen without making eye contact. His heart was pounding in his ears as he skittered past Craig’s mom, mumbling some kind of excuse before sliding open the back door and stepping outside, socks soaking in bitter snow. 

No, no, no, he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t sit down at the table and pretend to be normal. He nearly cried and threw up in the kitchen earlier, he couldn’t sit down and listen to small talk and sit next to Craig and Ruby and pretend he was fucking normal. 

Tweek crunched over to the edge of the porch, slumping against the rail. His toes curled as he rested his head against his arms, a soft grunt passing his lips. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t, he couldn’t, he fucking couldn’t. 

The door behind him slid open and Tweek whirled, gritting his teeth and standing like his spine was made of steel. 

Craig had the common sense to have pulled his boots on but was still standing out in the cold in his tshirt. He looked Tweek over closely, frowning as his gaze settled on his feet. 

“I neededsomeair,” His words were starting to run together again. He needed a coffee. And a new brain. 

“Okay.” Craig walked over to stand next to him, still staring at his feet. “Your socks are getting wet.” 

“I KNOW, thanks,” Tweek curled his fingers at his sides to mask the shakes. His fists trembled. The dark haired boy’s eyes flit back up to his face. 

“Honey.” 

Tweek dragged in a breath through his teeth at the gentle pet name. He shook his head, quickly, and Craig didn’t press. He just held a hand out, and Tweek brushed it aside to instead sidle up to him for a half hug. 

Craig wrapped his arm around his shoulders, and Tweek breathed out slowly. It didn’t help, but he leaned his weight against the other boy for a moment, closing his eyes. 

Craig didn’t ask if he was okay, Tweek didn’t tell him he wasn’t. 

He wasn’t. He really, really, wasn’t. He couldn’t do this, that was it, and Tweek suddenly shook his head, gently removing Craig’s arm from his shoulders like the boy were fragile. 

“I need to go home,” Tweek said, avoiding Craig’s eyes. 

“We don’t have to sit at the table,” Craig said gently, too gently, full of a sweetness Tweek didn’t deserve. “We can eat in my room.” 

Tweek shook his head again, harder, fingers shaking. 

“You can stay the night,” Craig tried again, and Tweek’s soul was breaking. 

“I need to go home,” He repeated staunchly, unblinking eyes fixated on the ground. “I can’t stay.” 

Craig sighed, heavily, turning and walking back towards the sliding door. He left Tweek to himself, the boy twisting his bony fingers so harshly they felt like they might break. 

He didn’t deserve any of this. He needed to go home. He dragged his hands through his hair, tugging slightly at the blond locks, finally moving to step inside and make a quick and quiet beeline for the front door. 

Tweek kept his head down. He began pulling on his boots before he even made a full stop, shoving wet-socked feet into galoshes with crawling skin shivering up his arms. He had to go. He had to get out of here. He couldn’t do this anymore. 

He wasn’t fucking normal. He wasn’t ever going to be fucking normal. 

He reached for his coat, swinging it on, jerking open the door before it was stopped, suddenly. 

Tweek looked up at the taller, skinny boy with his hand on the door. Craig’s expression was grim, greyish-green eyes staring down at him knowingly. 

He swallowed, unable to break that gaze and unwilling to address what was unspoken. 

Craig pressed his lips together, tightly, and let go of the door. Neither of them said goodbye and Tweek escaped out into the cold. 

Snow crunched under his boots as he left the warmth of the house behind. He didn’t look back, only folded his arms in front of himself and walked onward, under lit street lamps towards the café. 

He was never going to be normal. This wasn’t working, they’ve tried and Tweek just couldn’t do it. 

He kicked one heel of his boots into the toe of the other, leaving most of the snow behind as he slipped into his own home, trying to be as quick and quiet as possible to avoid any kind of conversation. 

But he couldn’t just go to his room. No. That was the whole point. 

Tweek avoided his parent’s gazes as he slipped through the kitchen, grabbing a cup and pouring himself a cup of coffee. It was always made in their house, after all. It’s what they were known for. 

“Tweek, I thought you were having dinner at Craig’s,” His mother was speaking, and Tweek’s hands shook. 

“That’s a different night,” He said, not waiting until the cup was half-filled before gulping down a relieving mouthful, sighing as the burning hot liquid hit his throat. God. 

“Just as well, we have something new to try tomorrow, the holidays are upon us and we have the warmth and peppermint to perfect before it hits the shelves.” Tweek didn’t automatically respond and his father prodded. “You ready?” 

“Uh huh.” Tweek didn’t even look at the table but picked up his full cup, headed towards his room. “I have homework.” 

“Alright.” 

And that was it. 

Tweek had to stop by the door again to fish his phone out of his pocket before hiding in his room. He didn’t want to look at it. He knew Craig would have texted him by now, voiced his disappointment in him, and he couldn’t take it. 

Tweek tossed the phone onto his bed and sat next to it, raising a jittery hand to take another sip. His room was a disaster, he had clothes everywhere and papers scattered. He still had a glass of water on his desk from when he tried painting again last week. He was a fucking mess. 

His vision was starting to clear, however, and his energy was coming back. He might be able to get something done today. Be useful. 

His phone buzzed. Tweek made a distressed noise, slowly turning to look. His phone was facedown. 

He slowly set his cup on the nightstand, reaching to flip the sleek device over, seeing Craig’s name directly on his home screen, right over a picture of a silhouette under fairy lights, barely visible but with a smile. 

Tweek quickly glanced up. Those lights had died weeks ago, he’d just never got around to replacing the batteries. 

He glanced back at the phone, bracing himself. 

**Craig T: That’s eleven days in a row. That’s the longest you’ve ever gone.**

Tweek shut his eyes, tightly. He clawed at his left wrist, trying to steady his phone to read it again. 

Eleven days. And he had the gall to sound proud. 

Knowing him, he was probably fighting off disappointment and hurt. Hiding that behind supportiveness because this is something he really, really wanted. 

And Tweek wanted to give it to him. He did. But Craig didn’t understand…it wasn’t that easy. 

He couldn’t do it. 

**Tweek T: __**

He paused for a good amount of time. 

What was there to say? I’m sorry? He _was_ , of course, he was very sorry. He as sorry he skipped out on dinner. He was sorry he couldn’t sit down and act normal for two fucking minutes. He was sorry he put Craig through this to begin with, and he was sorry it didn’t look like there was any end. 

He was going to break up with him. And Tweek would deserve it. He couldn’t be normal and he was just getting worse. He wasn’t even giving anything back in this relationship anymore, just taking. That wasn’t fair. He knew that wasn’t fair. 

**Tweek T: Love you. See you at school tomorrow.**

It was the best he could do. He didn’t look at Craig’s answer. Just sat on his bed, comforter worn from being his favorite from elementary school. A cup of coffee in his hands and watching the door. 

Half of him was hoping Craig would come back and start a fight with him. Anything other than this feeling of hopelessness ad guilt would be great. The other half was hoping his parents would walk in and indulge that hurt, sad, worried little part of his idiot heart and ask if he were okay. Or at least if he’d had dinner. 

No one opened Tweek’s door, but, again. He was seventeen years old. Well past the point of being able to be babied. Past the point of relying on others to change his mood. 

And if he couldn’t change it himself, might as well just resign. This was it. This was his last chance, and it was over. 

Somehow, the thought was almost comforting. That, at least, was easy. Even he couldn’t fight forever. 

Tweek is a seventeen year old male. He is 5’6 and a quarter in height and weighs 107 pounds. He is severely underweight. He is addicted to caffeine. He is addicted to methamphetamine.


End file.
